The Nine Musketeers
by Fiablora Pestrachki
Summary: The Fellowship Of Mismatched Personalities vs. Sauron the illiterate villain and his (educated) minions. And all over...A 25-cent plastic ring?! *Most likely discontinued*
1. Aragorn, The Quest Seeker

Short, pointless, my friend tells me it's funny. I don't own LOTR, I just write weird parodies and stuff.

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Aragorn stood in the throne room of Theoden. An abandoned chess game was still set up on a table off to the side. "I'm going on a quest," Aragorn was saying, "and–" 

"A quest?" interrupted Theoden. "Well what ever do you want to go on a quest for? I mean really, where's the logic in that? You don't even have anything to go questing _for_; you're already engaged to an Elf maiden, you're the long-lost descendant of the King of Gondor, and the only dragon round these parts was slain. So why go questing?" 

Aragorn was at a loss. "Ummmm, well, uhhh....." 

"You see?" 

"Yes–but still I shall go on a quest!" 

"Ermph. Well, now that that's settled, why have you come here?" 

"Ahem. Yes. As I have said, I am going on a quest–" 

"Can't see why," Theoden muttered. Aragorn glared at him but continued anyway. 

"–and so I should like to borrow a horse." 

"Borrow a horse? Well, I should say you have come to the right place. But what kind of horse? And how do I know you'll bring it back? You'll have to give me a deposit in case you lose it on this quest-thing. I don't want to come out of all this empty-handed."

"Fair enough," Aragorn agreed. "I'll give you this flagon of fine wine."

"Mmmmno. I get terrible hangovers. Have you nothing else?"

"Well–but I couldn't, it's from my one true love!"

"I'll take it!"

"What? You don't even know what it is."

"If you shouldn't give it up, I want it."

The notion that he could give Theoden anything and he wouldn't know the difference crossed Aragorn's mind. It was very tempting, but he told himself he was an honorable, honest man. Reluctantly he pulled the Evenstar from beneath his shirt and handed it to Theoden, who examined it disappointedly. "What, this is it? Just some silly trinket?"

"I'll have you know that's the Evenstar of the Elves, given to me by the daughter of Lord Elrond!"

"Yes, right, no need to shout. Well a deal's a deal. You can borrow–_borrow_, not have–a horse of your choosing."

"Any horse?"

"There are a few exceptions"

A few minutes later Aragorn and Theoden were walking through a field of horses, Theoden pointing out various available ones and explaining their good qualities. He was busy telling exactly how fast Black Star could go when Aragorn stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the animal in front of him. It was tall, gangly, swaybacked, and of a nondescript brownish-orange color, with a Roman nose and over-long ears that flopped to either side. Its eyes were half-closed and it stood with its legs braced out to the sides, its hooves seemingly cemented to the ground.

Aragorn immediately interrupted Theoden, who was standing by a bright-eyed black horse. "I want that one," he said as he pointed to it. 

Theoden's eyes bulged. "I really think Black Star is more suited to your needs." 

"No," Aragorn said stubbornly. "I want that one." 

"But–" 

"I'll call her Sugar!" 

"She's a he." 

"Oh. Ummm....then I'll call her–him, I mean–Sweetie!" 

"_Sweetie?_" 

"Yes." 

As Aragorn went to pet "Sweetie", Theoden shook his head. "Why do I bother?" 

After an hour of trying to saddle Sweetie and collecting innumerable teeth and hoof marks, Aragorn left, just in time to ride off into the sunset, though he ruined the whole effect by falling off. As the figure on the mule faded out of view, Theoden heard a faint chomp and a yelp. He winced and walked away, telling himself that that was the last he would have to see of the sorry sight presented by questor and biter. He pulled out the Evenstar and looked it over again. Well, at least _he_ wasn't coming out of it badly. Middle-Earth, however, was another story entirely.


	2. Boromir, The Singer

The characters are messed up, I know. So what

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"Lalalalalala...." The sound of off-key, tuneless singing knocked birds from their trees as Boromir walked by. Noticing that one still remained on its branch, he frowned and sang loudly, "LA." The bird fell and Boromir continued toward Gondor, considerably happier for the success of his "music'" 

Upon reaching Gondor, he reluctantly stopped his singing; after he had started breaking 12 or more mirrors a day, Denethor had outlawed his songs, and to be safe, Faramir's as well. Despite the fact he didn't sing. It was a safety precaution everyone rejoiced at, except he whose "talent" was forbidden. 

Walking down the streets, Boromir vaguely noticed that he had passed the same fountain 36 times or so. It irked him, but he really didn't have anything to do and it was hard to get un-lost if you weren't sure where to head anyway.

Around 4 hours later, Faramir found him continuing along a now-clear track around the fountain and a block or two of buildings and slapped a hand to his forehead. Grabbing Boromir by the arm, he dragged him in the direction of home, saying something about dinner and father. 

Dinner waschaotic. As Denethor, thanks to years of practice, calmly ignored his sons, they took turns flinging food at each other when they thought no one was looking–a habit cultivated when they were very young that had somehow followed them out of toddlerhood.

Faramir was about to eat an unidentified vegetable when a piece of meat found his nose.

"Now boys–" Denethor's words were cut off by a flying carrot hitting his throat. "STOP!" 

Both of his sons froze, Faramir taking the opportunity to lob a spoonful of potatoes in Boromir's eye; revenge for the meat. 

"Now." Denethor was rather red in the face. "Which one of you did that?" 

"What?" Boromir asked innocently. 

"THIS!" He held up the offending carrot. 

"He did it!" Both pointed to the other and Denethor sighed. 

"Well unless one of you confesses, you'll both lose out on your next allowance!" 

Boromir gasped. "But then we won't be able to buy more matches!" 

Faramir was equally shocked and both fell about to trying to force the other to admit he did it. 

"You did it, I saw you!" 

"No, you did it!" 

"I did not! It was you!" 

"No, it was you!" 

"Go to your rooms!" Denethor told them sternly. "And no dessert!" 

Muttering and glaring darkly at each other, they did as they were told. Boromir got lost on the way and spent the rest of the night wandering. And trying to figure out why they lived in such a _big_ home.

Upon finding his way to a large, half-opened window, Boromir began to wonder absently how people would react if he were gone and how well he could do as a wandering musician. As he surmised that everyone would most likely love his singing, the idea came: leave through the window and go to Rivendell to start off a shining career. Elves were fond of music, right?

Ignoring that little thing he assumed was his conscience, Boromir climbed out the window and began trying to scale the wall. In the end, he got down by falling, but somehow he managed not to get hurt and rose, grinning widely at his plan.

Boromir was loose.


End file.
